


Looking Back

by pippinmctaggart



Series: Merry & Pippin fics [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousins, Friendship, Gen, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-03
Updated: 2004-07-03
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippinmctaggart/pseuds/pippinmctaggart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merry needs Pippin's help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Back

**Author's Note:**

> My dearest beta, the marvellous [](http://1420.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://1420.livejournal.com/)**1420** needed a bit of a pick-me-up. And she was feeling the Pippin love. So this is what I came up with, and since it's _for_ my beta, it's obviously not _been_ beta'd. Hope it's not too noticeable. :)
> 
> My first Merry and Pippin fic.
> 
> Takes place twelve years after the War of the Ring.

Pippin rapped on the round blue door. “Merry? Merry!” he called loudly. “I know you’re at home. It’s safe to open the door, there’s not a Sackville-Baggins to be seen for miles!”

There was no answer.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck, open the door this instant!”

“No,” came a familiar but muffled voice from inside. “Go away, Pip.”

Pippin smiled. “Merry,” he said in a more normal tone, knowing he was being listened to from the other side of the wooden door. “Merry, dearest and most vain of hobbits, please let me in.”

“No. Go away.”

“What if I promise not to poke fun at you?”

“Who told you?” was the grumbled response.

“Fatty Bolger. I am afraid he found the whole thing rather amusing. Whatever possessed you to allow a relation of Fatty’s to practice his barbering skills on you, dear cousin?”

“Fatty did!” he said angrily. “He stood me pint after pint at the Green Dragon last night, and by the end of the evening I’d promised to let the young scalawag loose on my hair. My hair, Pippin!”

“Poor Merry,” he sympathized, but with a great deal of amusement. “I told you keeping that pint mug Butterbur gave you at the Dragon was not the wisest course.”

“Go away, Peregrin Took,” he muttered.

“I shan’t. Come now, beloved Merry, who is your favourite cousin?”

“Frodo,” he declared stubbornly.

“You wound me!” Pippin exclaimed, the only sign of his enjoyment being the twinkle in his eyes, unseen by Merry. “Who lovingly nursed you back to health after your heroics at Pelennor? Who knelt at your side, day and night, and brought you back from the brink?”

“Aragorn.”

“He didn’t!” Pippin protested, now put out. He planted his fists on his fine-worsted-clad hips. “He waved some weeds under your nose and left you in _my_ capable hands!”

There was a smile now in Merry’s voice, the conversation an oft-repeated and much enjoyed one. “I know. You took kind and tender care of me, Pip. There could be none better.”

“My dear ass,” Pippin said pertly, only partly mollified, “Open the door at once.”

“If you laugh at me I shall never speak to you again,” Merry warned darkly, already lifting the latch.

“A punishment not to be borne. I shan’t laugh,” Pippin vowed.

The door creaked open, and Pippin entered the dark hallway. He took one look at Merry’s head and calmly, kindly said, “Fetch your shears, my dear. It is dire, but not unsalvageable, I think.”

Merry padded into the kitchen for his shears, then returned to where Pippin had set a straight-backed chair next to the fireplace, in front of the window.

“Take off your waistcoat,” Pippin instructed, rolling up his sleeves. When Merry had done so, he said, “Now go soak your head. Then we shall see what we can do.”

Merry returned a few moments later, a towel around his shoulders, his wet hair—-what was left of it—-dripping onto it. He sat in the chair and sighed deeply. “Do you really think you can do anything with it, Pip? It’s humiliating indeed to look like a half-shorn sheep.”

Pippin chuckled. “I can make it better, Merry, but it’s still going to be quite obvious you’ve lost a few of your lovely curls.” He removed the excess moisture with the towel, then slowly began trimming Merry’s hair, the shears quietly snicking at the sides and back of Merry’s head. “Oh dear.”

“Do _not_ say ‘oh dear’ in that tone, Pippin, please,” he groaned. “What is it?”

“Well,” Pippin ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of his cousin’s neck, lifting it and judging length. “It seems the Bolger progeny has left you a patch here that is only a few fingers in length. I shall have to cut this fairly short to even it out.”

“Short?” Merry wailed. “But my neck will get cold.”

“Be thankful it’s summer, then, and not the depths of winter. Besides,” Pippin suggested hopefully, “perhaps you will begin a new trend, and I shall be pressed into service to give all the stylish young hobbits the new look sported by their hero.”

“Hero,” Merry snorted derisively. A moment later, though, sounding very casual indeed, he asked, “Do you think it might catch on? They _do_ look up to me, you know.”

“Oh, I know, my dear Master of Buckland.” Pippin fondly patted his shoulder. “I often can’t get through to see you, blocked as I am by your hordes of admirers.”

Merry frowned. “Now you mock me.”

“Perhaps a little,” he admitted with a cheeky grin. “But that doesn’t make it any less truthful. For twelve years now, the youth of the Shire have rightfully counted you amongst the bravest and truest of hobbits.”

“Might I remind you, Master Took,” Merry said with some asperity, “That many consider _you_ a part of the youth of the Shire? It’s not even a decade since your coming of age! Now show some respect to your elders.”

Pippin stopped his work with the shears to indignantly say, “Firstly, I _was_ showing respect—-you are much-loved in the Shire, Meriadoc Brandybuck, practically revered in Buckland, and well you know it! And secondly—-“ He paused and his voice lowered, and saddened when he continued. “I have seen far too much to ever be youthful again.”

Merry turned on the chair to look up at his cousin. “Oh, Pip,” he said affectionately, warmly. “That is patently untrue. You and I have seen horrors we shall never forget, and I could almost wish I had been able to protect you from that, dearest. But then you wouldn’t be the hobbit you are today, the dear Pip I love more than life itself, would you? But your joy and your impertinence, as Gandalf would say, and your youth will be forever in your heart, even when you surpass old Bilbo’s years. Which I hope you will.” He awkwardly reached up to pat Pippin’s arm. “And I shall expect you to look after me in my infirmity, you know.”

Pippin smiled down at him. “You _are_ a delight, old thing, and rest assured I shall care for you as no other could. You shall want for nothing, even as you grow senile and feeble and barely able to manage three meals a day.”

“Only three?” Merry said in disbelief. “Never. I should wither away to nothing. You must make sure I eat at _least_ five meals a day, Pippin. Preferably six. And smoke a pipe of Longbottom Leaf every other day, and drink a pint of good rich ale every night before bed.”

“A pint?” Pippin grinned. “Perhaps by then you should content yourself with a more hobbit-sized half, my dear.”

Merry cocked his head thoughtfully. “Perhaps. After all, I _will_ be a venerable one hundred and twenty-one years old.”

“Exactly. You’ll have your dignity to consider.”

“You are right, of course, most excellent of hobbits.” Merry turned on the chair again, presenting the back of his head for Pippin to finish the trimming.

“But of course.” He resumed his work with the shears. “And I, as a spry thing of whatever age I shall be when you are one hundred and twenty-one, will read to you the tales of our youth. And our grandchildren will gather at our knees and implore us to tell them again, just one more time, of how we saved the Shire. There, I think we are done, Merry dear.” He swept the towel from Merry’s shoulders. “Let me see.”

Merry stood, turning anxiously one way and then the other. “How does it look?” he implored. “Do I need to buy several hats? Perhaps a hooded cloak?”

Pippin eyed him critically. “No, I think you’ll be surprised. You just might start that trend yet. Come, let’s head for the Green Dragon for one of those good rich ales you mentioned. And this time, Master Meriadoc, you’ll use a regular mug.”

“What, go out looking like this? To the inn? I daren’t,” he shook his head. “I should let it grow out a bit more first.”

“And stay in your hole for weeks? Absolutely not.” Pippin firmly steered his cousin to the door, scooping up his waistcoat on the way. “Get yourself dressed, my dearest Merry, and then we shall be off.”

Merry donned his golden waistcoat, but still hesitated. “I don’t know, Pip…”

Pippin gently said, “We faced the forces of evil together, my brave hobbit, enduring more hardship and loss than we knew we could bear. This is but another trial to be faced—-together.”

“When you put it that way,” Merry made a face, “I’m making rather a fuss, aren’t I? Lead on, then, beloved Pip. But if anyone laughs at me, I shall expect you to deal with them.”

“Then I’d better bring my sword, hadn’t I?” He ducked the swipe Merry aimed at him, then offered his elbow, and together they left the hole and sauntered down the road.


End file.
